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The  Lights  Go  Out 

The  Last  Day  and  ^Jight  of  the 

Panama-Pacific International Exposition 

at  San  Francisco,  California 


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oAn  Account 
of  tine  Closing  Ceremonies 

of  the 

kc'u.et,  Panama-Pacific  International  Exposition 
San  Francisco 


'December  Fourth 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


7T/6 


The  Last  Day  an 
of  the  Panama-Pacific  International  Exposition 
at  San  Francisco 
California 

TO  those  that  have  rejoiced  in  the  Exposition  some 
account  of  its  final  hour  is  due.  Its  end  was  beau- 
tiful, for  nature  itself  was  at  its  kindest. 
It  had  rained  heavily  all  the  day  before,  but  the 
morning  of  December  4th  broke  as  fair  as  any  dayin  midsum- 
mer, and  by  eleven  o'clock  the  sun  was  burning  in  a  cloud- 
less California  sky.  Men  carried  their  overcoats  on  their  arms. 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  Tower  of  Jewels  and  on  one 
of  the  lower  terraces  of  the  Court  of  the  Universe  a  stand 
had  been  erected  on  which  sat  the  Directors  of  the  Exposi- 
tion, Commissioners  of  foreign  governments  and  domestic 
states,  and  representatives  of  the  Army  and  Navy,  of  the 
State  of  California,  and  of  the  city  of  San  Francisco.  A  ma- 
rine guard  of  honor  formed  two  lines  down  the  broad  stairs. 
To  right  and  left  buglers  were  stationed.  From  the  Arches 
of  the  Rising  and  of  the  Setting  Sun,  the  colossal  Nations 
of  the  East  and  Nations  of  the  West  looked  down  upon  a 
multitude  that  could  not  have  numbered  less  than  150,000 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


people — not  a  sad  audience,  but  a  satisfied  and  a  gratified 
one,  for  the  work  to  which  the  city  had  set  its  hand  had 
been  completed. 

The  Philippine  Constabulary  band  played.  President 
Moore  stepped  forward  and  introduced  the  business  of  the 
day.  "Our  task  is  done,"  he  said.  "The  end  of  six  years 
earnest  endeavor  has  come.  We  shall  begin  these  ceremonies 
with  the  reading  by  Mr.  Arthur  Arlett,  member  of  the  Cali- 
fornia State  Commission,  of  George  Sterling's  poem,  writ- 
ten for  this  occasion." 

Mr.  Arlett  read: 

The  Builders 

The  year  grows  old,  but  Progress  has  no  age : 
Her  flags  go  forward  to  increasing  light; 
Behind  her  lies  the  night; 

It  is  a  ceaseless  war  her  soldiers  wage, 
And  on  her  great  and  ever-widening  sky, 
"Onward!"  is  still  the  truceless  battle-cry. 

The  Future  is  our  kingdom,  and  altho 

Our  hands  unbuild  the  city  they  have  built, 
Yet  here  no  blood  is  spilt 

Nor  swords  uplifted  for  a  nation's  woe. 
And  tho  the  columns  and  the  temples  pass, 
Let  none  regret;  let  no  man  cry  "Alas!" 


We  do  but  cross  a  threshold  into  day. 
Beauty  we  leave  behind, 
A  deeper  beauty  on  our  path  to  find 

And  higher  glories  to  illume  the  way. 

The  door  we  close  behind  us  is  the  Past: 
Our  sons  shall  find  a  fairer  door  at  last. 

A  world  reborn  awaits  us.  Years  to  come 

Shall  know  its  grace  and  good, 

When  wars  shall  end  in  endless  brotherhood, 
And  birds  shall  build  in  cannon  long  since  dumb. 

Men  shall  have  peace,  tho  then  no  man  may  know 

Who  built  this  sunset  city  long  ago. 

Wherefore,  be  glad!  Sublimer  walls  shall  rise, 

Which  these  do  but  foretell. 

Be  glad  indeed!  for  we  have  builded  well, 
And  set  a  star  upon  our  western  skies 

Whose  fire  shall  greaten  on  a  land  made  free, 

Till  all  that  land  be  bright  from  sea  to  sea ! 

On  the  stroke  of  noon  the  President  of  the  Exposition 
read  the  toast  of  President  Wilson,  having  explained  that 
it  would  be  given  the  world  around  at  that  moment:  three 
o'clock  at  New  York,  three  forty-three  at  Buenos  Aires, 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  at  Paris,  nine  o'clock  at  Stock- 
holm, five  o'clock  Sunday  morning  at  Tokio,  six  o'clock  in 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


The  Lights  Melbourne.  "I  call  your  attention  to  it  that  you  may  see 
C'n  Out  t^iat  t^ie  wofk  t^iat  has  keen  clone  by  the  devoted  Foreign 
and  State  Commissioners  has  produced  a  bond  the  like  of 
which,  we  believe,  has  not  existed  before."  The  toast  was: 

"The  Panama-Pacific  International  Exposition: 

"Which  in  its  conception  and  successful  accomplishment 
gave  striking  evidence  of  the  practical  genius  and  artistic  taste 
of  America; 

"Which  in  its  unusual  and  interesting  exhibits  afforded 
impressive  illustration  of  the  development  of  the  arts  of 
peace;  and 

"Which  in  its  motive  and  object  was  eloquent  of  the  new 
spirit  which  is  to  unite  East  and  West  and  make  all  the 
world  partners  in  the  common  enterprises  of  progress  and 
humanity. 

"  Woodrow  Wilson,  President  of  the  United  States." 

Then  came  a  bit  of  allegory,  composed  by  Lawrence  W. 
Harris  of  the  foundation  committee  of  the  Exposition. 

A  Boy  Scout  was  summoned  to  carry  the  Exposition's 
message  to  the  school  children  of  the  world.  President  Moore 
put  a  silk  ribbon  with  a  decoration  about  his  neck,  and  he 
departed  between  the  ranks  of  sailors.  A  Journalist  was  sum- 
moned, decorated  and  sent  forth.  "  To  Journalism,"  said  the 
President,  "has  been  assigned  the  great  task  of  carrying  the 
meaning  of  the  Exposition  to  all  men.  Go,  good  friend, 


there  is  work  for  you  to  do."  To  a  Toiler,  with  his  sledge, 
the  Exposition's  President  said:  "Tell  the  toilers  of  the  world, 
our  brethren,  that  they  have  contributed  nobly  to  man's 
betterment  and  the  world's  advancement."  The  Cowboy, 
the  Surveyor,  the  Soldier  and  the  Sailor  were  commissioned 
to  carry  the  message  into  the  unsettled  places  of  the  earth, 
to  all  far  shores  and  throughout  the  seven  seas. 

Finally  three  Exposition  Guards  were  summoned.  The 
chairman  of  the  association  of  foreign  commissioners  dec- 
orated one,  the  head  of  the  association  of  the  commission- 
ers of  domestic  states  decorated  another,  and  the  President  of 
the  Exposition  took  from  about  his  own  neck  the  ribbon  of 
Exposition  colors  he  wore  and  put  it  about  the  neck  of  the 
third.  With  it  went  the  message  to  the  President  of  the 
United  States,  which  the  Guards  were  charged  to  dispatch; 
the  message  reading: 

"San  Francisco,  California,  December  4, 1915. 
"HONORABLE  WOODROW  WILSON, 
President  of  the  United  States, 

White  House,  Washington,  D.  C. 

"Your  inspiring  sentiment  has  at  the  appointed  time  just  been 
read.  'The  enthusiasm  it  received  is  expressive  of  our  hope  that 
real  world  service  has  been  performed  here. 

"Our  task  is  finished.  We  realize  that  time,  and  time  alone, 
must  determine  the  exa8  place  in  the  scale  of  human  usefulness 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


The  Lights       ^at  history  will  accord  us.  The  contributions  of  Nations,  States, 
C'o  Out       organizations  and  individuals  have  been  offered  with  earnestness 
and  the  enthusiastic  hope  that  results  beneficial  to  the  world's 
progress  and  advancement  will  follow. 

"Your  endorsement  of  our  efforts  is  most  gratifying. 
"Please  accept  assurance  of  affectionate  and  patriotic  regard. 

«  CHARLES  C  MOORE, 
President  Panama-Pacific  International  Exposition." 

The  Guards  marched  away,  the  sailors  fired  a  salute  from 
their  rifles,  the  big  guns  on  the  battleships  boomed  forth. 
From  the  top  of  the  Tower  of  Jewels  an  American  flag,  a 
wreath  and  an  Exposition  banner  descended  a  long,  slant- 
ing cable  to  a  point  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  where  doves 
were  released,  to  circle  uncertainly  awhile  and  then  join  the 
flocks  that  have  given  animation  to  the  Court  of  the  Uni- 
verse throughout  the  Exposition  period. 

During  the  afternoon,  ceremonial  calls  and  farewells  were 
exchanged  between  the  Foreign  and  State  Commissioners 
and  the  Directors  of  the  Exposition.  The  people  were  pour- 
ing through  the  gates  like  army  corps,  459,022  of  them  in 
all,  swelling  the  total  for  the  period  to  18,876,438.  It  was 
a  larger  attendance  than  on  the  greatest  day  at  St.  Louis 
and  contributed  to  a  larger  total  of  paid  admissions. 

Accompanied  by  buglers,  an  escort  of  Exposition  Guards 


and  soldiers,  and  a  "town  crier"  in  colonial  costume,  the 
President  of  the  Exposition  and  the  Director  of  the  Divi- 
sion of  Exhibits  went  the  round  of  the  palaces  (with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  Palace  of  Fine  Arts  which  was  to  remain  open 
four  months  longer),  to  say  to  the  various  exhibitors  and 
department  chiefs,  "Well  done,  and  good-bye,"  and  to  com- 
mand the  latter  formally  to  close  their  doors  at  six  o'clock. 
The  ceremony  took  place  in  each  instance  on  a  little  plat- 
form at  a  main  entrance,  and  was  accompanied  by  the  low- 
ering of  the  palace  flag. 

Night  came  on,  and  the  world's  wonder  of  lights;  the  Ex- 
position lights  that  would  never  shine  again — a  red  glow  on 
Kelham's  towers,  rose  flame  in  the  porches  of  the  Machin- 
ery Palace,  dim  reflections  in  the  Lagoon  of  the  Palace  of  Fine 
Arts  and  the  broad  basin  in  the  Court  of  the  Four  Seasons, 
the  splendor  of  the  giant  monstrances  in  the  Court  of  Abun- 
dance, the  silver  phosphorescence  of  the  Adventurous  Bow- 
man on  his  column  and  the  Lord  of  the  Isthmian  Way  on 
his  rack-o'-bones  horse,  the  tremulous,  frosty  shimmer  of  the 
hundred  thousand  jewels  of  the  great  spire;  and  over  all,  the 
long  bands,  like  lambent  metal,  of  bronze  and  crimson  and 
green  and  blue,  from  the  forty-eight  searchlights  on  the 
Yacht  Harbor  mole,  bands  that  barred  the  heavens  so  far 
that  they  deceived  the  eye  and  in  the  southeast  appeared  to 
converge  beyond  the  hills  of  the  city. 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


There  were  fireworks  on  the  Marina,  with  bursting  globes 
of  gold  reflected  in  the  waters  of  the  Yacht  Harbor  and  the 
Bay.  But  long  before  midnight  the  crowds  left  the  scene 
and  poured  from  the  Esplanade  into  the  Court  of  the  Uni- 
verse for  the  last  a<ft  of  the  drama. 

And  nature  still  was  kind.  The  night  was  balmy,  with 
hardly  a  stir  of  breeze.  Again  the  people  packed  the  Court. 
The  end  was  near. 

For  years  most  of  them  had  worked  and  waited  and  hoped 
for  the  Exposition.  For  288  days  it  had  been  doing  its  work, 
celebrating  the  greatest  material  achievement  of  man,  teach- 
ing men  science  and  industry  and  commerce,  and  how  to 
enrich  their  lives  with  art;  answering  from  the  rostra  of  as- 
sembly halls  and  from  every  palace  aisle,  as  well  as  human 
contrivance  could  answer,  the  prayer  of  the  dying  Goethe 
for  "More  light!"  And  it  was  nearly  over.  The  minutes 
marched  with  iron  tread.  They  could  not  be  stayed.  A  choir 
sang  the  Hallelujah  Chorus,  but  the  concourse  was  very  still, 
expecting  the  hour  of  fate — the  termination  of  an  epoch  in 
the  history  of  every  soul  there  present,  of  an  era  in  the  evo- 
lution of  human  affairs.  Here  and  there  one  heard  a  half- 
stifled  sob,  forced  by  the  anticipated  craving  for  the  return 
of  what  could  never  be  again.  Simply  and  clearly  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Exposition  began  to  speak: 

"The  end  of  a  perfect  day.  The  beginning  of  an  endless 


memory.  We  know  now  more  than  ever  how  through  all 
the  trying  months  God's  blessing  has  been  ours. 

"We  have  assembled  here,  we  builders  of  the  Exposition,  for 
thelast  rites  beforeofficialclosing.Throughitall,goodfriends, 
keep  a  smile  on  your  faces,  though  there  be  tears  in  your  hearts. 

"It  is  not  a  time  for  words.  We  have  been  on  trial  be- 
fore the  tribunal  of  the  world,  and  what  could  be  said  here 
could  not  make  up  for  omissions,  nor  could  it  add  to  our 
accomplishments. 

"We  are  here  to  perform  the  final  act  of  putting  out  the 
lights  that  we  hope  have  burned  brightly,  to  good  purpose. 
Those  lights  must  now  be  dimmed. 

"Whatever  pkce  is  given  us  by  Time's  deliberate  but  fair 
decision,  at  all  events  we  have  the  consciousness  of  knowing 
that  we,  the  forces,  elements  and  fadors  involved  in  this 
work,  have  striven  earnestly  and  conscientiously  to  meet  a 
great  responsibility.  We  hope,  we  pray,  that  we  have  suc- 
ceeded. Time,  in  its  fulness,  must  respond. 

"The  wizard  of  sentiment  and  verse,  our  own  George 
Sterling,  has  prepared  some  lines  for  tonight.  Hear  the  stir- 
ring words.  He  sings: 

"The  hour  has  struck-  The  mighty  work  is  done. 
Praise  God  for  all  the  bloodless  victories  won. 
And  from  these  courts  of  beauty's  pure  increase 
Go  forth  in  joy  and  brotherhood  and  peace. 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


man 


"The  time  approaches.  If  the  reverential  prayer  of  a  lay- 
ermissible,  let  me  quote  those  inspired  words,  ages 
old:  'The  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  understanding, 
keep  your  hearts  and  minds  in  the  knowledge  and  love  of 
God,  now  and  evermore.' 

"Friends,  the  Exposition  is  finished.  The  lights  are  going 
out." 

Not  abruptly,  but  slowly  and  gently,  the  lamps  grew  dark, 
the  beams  of  the  searchlights  faded,  and  arches  and  courts 
and  colonnades  and  towers  and  sculptured  forms  of  men 
and  women  and  angels  and  great  beasts  receded  into  the 
friendly  night,  lighted  now  by  the  glimmer  of  the  winter 
stars,  Orion  and  Sirius,  Aldebaran  and  the  Hyades.  And 
through  the  starlight,  "Taps"  dropped  in  liquid  notes  from 
bugles  high  on  the  Tower  of  Jewels. 

The  lights  came  on  again,  but  nevermore  the  lights  of 
the  living  Exposition.  For  that,  they  spelled  "Finis"  across 
the  lower  gallery  of  the  Tower.  Six  hundred  steel  mortars 
planted  along  the  Marina  discharged  as  many  bombs  into 
the  air  in  the  most  spectacular  salvo  of  fireworks  ever  seen, 
and  then  was  heard  the  welcome  whir  of  "Art"  Smith's  en- 
gine as  his  aeropkne  glided  upward  into  the  velvet  sky,  to 
turn  over  and  over  in  trailing  wreaths  of  fire.  For  this  per- 
formance and  the  performer  the  Exposition  crowds  had 
learned  to  feel  a  great  affection,  so  that  the  reappearance  of 


their  friend,  with  his  gambols  of  the  upper  air,  served  in 
some  degree  to  mitigate  what  might  have  been  a  too  poig- 
nant sorrow. 

No  one  was  hurried  away.  It  was  the  wish  of  the  Presi- 
dent that  all  who  felt  so  disposed  should  linger  as  long  as 
the  mood  lasted.  There  was  no  vandalism,  no  destruction 
of  property.  It  was  after  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the 
5th  before  the  last  weary  visitor  was  willing  to  say  good-bye, 
and  to  admit  in  his  heart  that  the  lights  of  the  Exposition 
had  gone  out  forever. 


Here  ends  "The  Lights  Go  Out-  The  Last  Day  and  ^ght  of 

the  Panama-Pacific  International  Exposition  at  San  Francisco, 

California";  accompanied  by  a  facsimile  of  the  Toast  of 

Woodroiv  Wilson,  President  of  the  United  States  of  America,  in 

his  handwriting;  and  with  verses  by  George  Sterling.  Published  by 

the  Exposition,  the  account  being  written  by  Frank  Morton  Toad 

its  official  historian;  issued  from  the  press  of  the  Blair-Murdock 

Company  at  San  Francisco,  California,  under  the  direction 

of  John  Henry  Nash,  in  December,  Nineteen 

Hundred  and  Fifteen,  anno  Domini, 

the  Exposition  year. 


The  Lights 
Go  Out 


Gaylamount 

Pamphlet 

Binder 

Gaylord  Bros.,  Inc. 

Stockton,  Calif. 
T.M.Reg.  U.S.  Pat.  Off. 


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